When my mother called Sunday evening, she was distraught. The conversation was confusing and short. The only thing I could understand was “come home.” I didn’t know what was happening, but it was urgent and terrible. I thought something was happening right that moment, in my mom and step-dad’s house. Many horrible possibilities went through my head, including my step-dad having a heart-attack. I told my mom to dial 9-1-1, and that I was coming.

I was in my car and on the road within minutes, but it would take two hours to get to my hometown. I was on my cell phone trying to get more information regularly for the first half hour of the drive.

I learned that my step-dad had died of a heart-attack. Even though that very potentiality had gone through my head a few minutes before, the reality of the concept just didn’t set in my mind. He had died a few hours previous, but my mom had just found out.

I had left my house with just the clothes on my back; I hadn’t taken time to pack anything. I had left the kids in the capable hands of my wife and mother-in-law. When I understood that my absolute immediate presence was not necessary (I could take five minutes to pick up some necessities), I pulled into a grocery store.

I went in and quickly grabbed some toothpaste, a toothbrush, and some other such items. I took my basket to the checkout with the shortest line—just one customer. I’d forgotten that it was a Sunday night; the store was busy, and most of the checkout lines long.

The guy ahead of me was purchasing just a six-pack of beer. The cashier had to check his ID, and then the guy asked for a carton of cigerettes. The cashier went over to the cigerette case and pulled out his brand. I was in a hurry, so this was seeming to take just such a long time. They cashier rang the two items up and the guy wanted to pay with a check.

The cashier had to call over a manager to approve the check, and there was some problem. I noticed the other checkout lines were moving customers right along—the next register over had already rung out two customers in the length of time I had been standing behind this loser with the beer, cigerettes, and bad check.

All the other open checkouts had several customers in line, but I saw a self-checkout with a vacancy. I gave up on the hang up line and went to ring myself up. Ironically and frustratingly, there was a glitch in this self-checkout computer. It hung up on some recurssive routine, telling me to place the item on the conveyer belt and scan the next item, place the item on the conveyer belt and scan the next item, place the item on the conveyer belt and scan the next item. Dammit! For the love of. . .! I’m literally dealing with a death in the family, and I’m getting this sitcom scenario holding me up.

I was about to just cuss and forget about the purchase when a clerk came up and helped me out. In just another minute, I was heading out the door, back to my car.

I eventually made it to my hometown and met up with my family. I learned that my step-dad had been out at his dog pen, where he keeps his deer hunting dogs, must have gotten tired and hot, sat down on the tailgate of his pickup truck, and just passed peacefully. That’s probably the way he would have wanted to go. Doing something he loved to do (dealing with his dogs), peacefully, and quickly.

He was 70 years old. He leaves a wife, 6 children, 8 grandchildren, 1 new great-grandchild, many other family members, and friends too numerous to count. He was a good man. Heaven has improved with his arrival.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

My step-father died of a heart-attack Sunday. I am currently in my old hometown with family and friends. Until today, I’ve had no way to post to my blog, so you can see there’s 3 days of missing posts. Now that I have things set up with a laptop, I’ll be posting my daily thoughts again, even from Smalltown, Southern State.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

In my teen years, I was briefly friends with a pathological liar. It didn’t take long to realize he lied about everything, and once I understood, his lies became hilarious.

He once told me and another friend that he had tickets to see some band in concert (I think it was The Who). The other friend, who had known this guy longer than I had, started questioning him on the claim:

Other Friend: “Where’d you get the tickets?”

Liar Friend: “John sold them to me.”

OF: “When did John get them?”

LF: “Last week.”

OF: “I talked with John a few days ago, and he didn’t have them.”

LF: “Oh, he paid for them last week, and they just came in yesterday.”

OF: “He told me he couldn’t get them.”

LF: “Well, he figured out a way.”

OF: “He told me he wasn’t even interested, and wasn’t trying to get them.”

LF: “Yeah, he told me someone else who had gotten them. So I went to the other guy.”

OF: “Who?”

LF: “Mark.”

OF: “Mark Harrison?”

LF: “Yeah.”

OF: “Mark doesn’t even like The Who.”

LF: “That’s why he gave me the tickets.”

OF: “Why’d he have tickets in the first place?”

LF: “He got them from his sister.”

On and on. The other friend had done this kind of thing with the liar before, and he could go on and on making the liar fall back and make more lies. And the craziest thing about it was that the lies were completely unnecessary. Sometimes we knew the truth as he was lying to us, and other times we’d know a few days later that he’d been lying. Like with the tickets – in a couple days, we’d know he didn’t go to the concert. And we didn’t care. He didn’t impress any of us. He just had the pathological need to tell a lie.

I’ve only known one other regular liar, and she was just the friend of a friend. I had no regular contact with her, so I never witnessed her lying. But I’m told she told lies to hurt people. She’d stir things up with her friends and enemies just to be mean. I’m glad I’ve never had to deal with such a person.

My lying friend didn’t have an ulterior motive for lying, he just did it. I don’t even think he realized he was lying. And he never gave in, even when someone, like the other friend, pushed back on his lies. That’s a sadly twisted mind. I wonder how he came out as an adult.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

In my high school days, I waited tables for spending money. One Sunday, a group of ten middle-aged and older men and women came in from their church service. They were all dressed for church—the men in coats and ties, the women in dresses. They had been pleasant and polite, right up until they threw me a curve ball.

Their table was along a wall at the back of the restaurant, so four had their backs to the wall, four were facing the wall, and two were at either end of the table. As usual for a Sunday lunch, the restaurant was packed. When I brought their food, I started with those on the outside and ended with those against the wall. They were not right up on the wall, so there was enough room for me to squeeze behind them to place their meals before them.

As I was setting down the last of the plates, they were deciding who would say the blessing. “So who will say grace, today?” A couple of the men offered to speak, but then the apparent matriarch of the group looked directly at me, catching my eye, and said, “Why don’t you say it for us?”

I had only barely heard what the short discussion was about, as I was placing the last plates and getting ready to leave the table. But when the request clicked in my mind, time slowed down. Every head at the table turned to look at me, and one of the men at the end of the table said, “Yes, that would be nice.”

I was still behind four of the group, between them and the wall. At least one of them would have to shift forward a bit for me to squeeze back out, but no one moved. I was literally trapped. It felt like a full minute passed as I stood there like a deer caught in headlights, and then they all bowed their heads for the prayer.

I’d never been one to say blessing even at my own house. My father or grandfather always did that honor. And here I was just their waiter. For a moment, while their heads were bowed and they were folding their hands in front of them, I thought maybe I could jump out from behind them and slink away. But the whole area was
too crowded for any kind of quick stealth.

It felt like another minute passed, and then the matriarch lifted her head just enough to look up at me again, obviously prompting me to start the blessing.

“Um, . . . God is great, God is good, let us thank in for this food. . .” It was the only thing that came to mind right then.

When I reached the end, they all repeated, “Amen,” and lifted their heads. “That was very nice,” the matriarch said. Then those blocking my escape shifted to let me out, and I left the table as quickly as I could without bolting.

A waitress and the hostess were standing near the kitchen door staring at me. “What did you just do?” the hostess asked.

Red faced, I explained the situation. They both laughed heartily, and I asked the waitress to take over that table for the rest of lunch.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com